


You Have Control

by orphan_account



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas makes a bet with Martin when Martin doesn't give him what he wants.  In the end, everyone wins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have Control

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt (http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3602898#cmt3602898) at the prompt meme. If you go there and notice that the ending is different, it's because someone had a better idea. So I took it.

Douglas re-entered the flight cabin from having visited the bathroom and immediately approached Martin, sitting in the captain’s chair with stiff shoulders and an impossibly straight back. If Douglas didn’t know better, he would assume the young man was made of pure iron; as it were, he wasn’t, and that constant professional posture was sure to get painful after so many hours. Douglas stopped immediately behind Martin. He placed his hands on his shoulders, on either side of his neck. There was a moment’s stiffening, and then a satisfying melt into Douglas’s fingers, which roamed the muscles of Martin’s shoulders, patting down, pulling, kneading into his uniform.  
  
“Thank you,” Martin sighed. “I really need that.”  
  
“Understandably so, Sir.” Martin tensed immediately under Douglas’s fingers. “After so many long hours of sitting in one spot, holding on to a little steering wheel, I can see why Sir is so tense. I believe a neck rub is the least of your needs right now, Sir.”  
  
“What do you want, Douglas?”  
  
“Who says I want anything?”  
  
“I’m sorry; you’re _not_ the Douglas Richardson with no less than seven ulterior motives in play at any given moment?”  
  
“Indeed I am that man, Sir.”  
  
“And stop that!” Douglas took his hands from Martin’s shoulders. Martin shook his head. “No! Not—Not that. Stop calling me ‘Sir’.”  
  
“Whatever for, Sir?” Douglas asked, subtly emphasizing the “sir”. “If Sir is my superior officer, then I should treat him with the appropriate respect.”  
  
“No. I-I mean, yes, yes you should, but I’ve known you long enough to know that you only use ‘Sir’ when you’re teasing me or when…”  
  
“‘Or when’ what, _Sir_?” Douglas’s voice had turned into a lion’s purr. It rumbled in the back of his throat, curled over his tongue like the swell of a wave and flowed into his captain’s spine. It made the younger man shiver. It made Douglas want to taste the warm, soft skin on the back of Martin’s neck as it turned one shade closer to pink.  
  
“When…when…you _know_.”  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t, Sir. You’ll have to elaborate so that I may take note and apply this knowledge later when giving you your respect.”  
  
Martin squirmed in his seat, just a little bit, just in a way that only Douglas could spot it. “You do it when…when you’re teasing me and when you’re… _teasing_ me. And right now I’m not sure which is which.”  
  
“Ah! You may not, but I certainly do!” Douglas got on his knees on the floor next to the captain’s seat. Martin watched with mild horror as Douglas began to move his body forward, ease a hand between Martin’s knees and pull gently on his thigh. The look Douglas was giving him was hungry: a man who starved and thirsted in the desert for forty years, now come to the doorstep of a Bedouin stranger asking for bread and water. Martin’s thighs gave easily, but his mind had a bit more strength.  
  
“Douglas! N-Not in here! Not while we’re flying!”  
  
“We’ve done much worse in the flight deck.” Douglas’s hand was stroking the insides of Martin’s thighs, delighting in how gently they shook.  
  
“We were on the ground! And there was no one around!”  
  
“No one is around right now.”  
  
“Arthur—“  
  
“Is watching all three _Toy Story_ movies in a row before we land. He shall be thoroughly distracted for another six hours. Which, shall I remind _Sir_ , is about four hours longer than the remainder of this flight and five and a half hours longer than the longest you’ve gone under my ministrations.” Douglas’s hand came to rest on Martin’s crotch, cupping softly the hardening length underneath the stiff pants. He moved his hand up and down, the heel of his palm sitting right on top of the root of Martin’s cock. His voice deepened and smoothed into a purr again as he said, “I don’t plan on having you last that long this time.”  
  
“C-Carolyn—“  
  
“Is on a secret rendezvous with Herc and shall not be calling.” Douglas’s fingers curved under where Martin’s bottom met the chair. He could feel his lover as he hardened under Douglas’s palm, under that stiff and unforgiving fabric. From there, muscle memory took over his mind: the weight of Martin in his hand, the smooth silky texture of his skin, the heat radiating off of him, his clean and heady taste, his sweat, how Martin sounded as he came. Douglas was already hard in his own trousers and Martin’s pathetic protests were only delaying the happy inevitable. Two of Douglas’s fingers pressed against the seam of Martin’s trousers, moved upwards towards his flies, and as Martin was distracted (and distracting him with a bit-off moan) Douglas unbuttoned Martin’s trousers.  
  
“Douglas! Stop! We shouldn’t do this!”  
  
Douglas pulled down Martin’s fly zipper. “Why should I? I believe I have the better argument for why we should do this.”  
  
“No you don’t.”  
  
Douglas sighed. “Martin, Martin, Martin. Which, in your professional opinion, do you think is more comfortable? Sitting in a plane for two hours with a hard-on, waiting to land before you do anything about it, or letting your very, very willing and, by your own admission, _talented_ boyfriend do something about it right now?”  
  
“That is not a good enough reason. There have been plenty of times where I— I, I mean…”  
  
“Naughty, naughty Captain Crieff.” Douglas kissed his thigh. “You will have to elaborate later, but for now…”  
  
Douglas pushed his hand into Martin’s trousers. Martin inhaled through his nose and began to shake his head. Martin’s hardness was sitting against the flat of Douglas’s palm with only the thin cotton of Martin’s pants separating them.  
  
“How about we make a bet out of it?” Douglas leaned in closely and shifted himself so that his chest was resting on Martin’s knee. Martin looked down at him, a glint of interest in his eyes. “I bet that I can make you let go of the controls with nothing but my mouth.”  
  
Martin waited a beat. “And if I win?”  
  
Douglas smirked. “If you win—which is highly unlikely—you have the right to define the limits and parameters of our next engagement. If I win, I get to decide the when, the where, and the what.”  
  
Martin bit his lower lip. Douglas moved the heel of a hand into Martin’s pelvic bone and he saw the strongly-wrought defenses crumble quickly. Douglas leaned forward, his eyes leaving Martin’s face as he pressed his face to the inside of Martin’s thigh. Douglas took a deep breath through this nose and shuddered and the suppressed smell of his lover. Douglas was starting to feel uncomfortable in his own trousers; his erection was pressed against his y-fronts and against part of his zip and he wanted to take himself out and show Martin just how much he wanted him at this moment, if it would convince the younger man to agree to his, honestly, extremely simple request. Instead, Douglas ran his teeth down Martin’s thigh.  
  
“F-Fine. Fine. Okay. But it has to be both hands off of the controls. And you can’t use your hands for anything other than holding my legs open.”  
  
Douglas pulled down the front of Martin’s pants and pulled out his erection, already very red and very wet at the crown. “I accept your terms, _Sir_.”Douglas shifted himself a bit more so that he was kneeling directly in front of Martin, who was staring at him as he moved. Douglas kept his hands on Martin’s knees and gave the other man’s cock a long, hungry look.  
  
Martin’s cock was a clean, uncut, pinkish-red seven inches, with a single vein running prominently along the underside of the length. Douglas smirked as he reminded himself how Martin loved it when Douglas swiped his tongue over that vein, pressed the tip against the bluest part in the middle. He didn’t need to remind himself how much he loved the feeling of Martin falling apart underneath him. Douglas leaned forward and Martin’s smell hit him like the side of a mountain. It was skin, skin and salt and the smell of that undeniable heat that clung to every part of Martin, and drew Douglas in every time. Douglas salivated at the thought of it, of all the memories that smell brought back of Martin crawling over him, desire in his eyes, control in the set of his mouth, and confidence in his movements.  
  
“Douglas, if you’re going to do this, then go—oooh…”  
  
Douglas stopped his partner’s sentence dead as he captured the leaky head between his lips and sucked it in just past his teeth. Douglas closed his eyes as his tongue rolled up to give the slit soft, kittenish licks. The taste of Martin’s precome nearly made Douglas come undone himself, but finishing too early, he reminded himself, would make this all significantly less fun. Douglas suckled on the head like it was a lollipop and Martin made the most delicious noise in his repertoire:  
  
“Oooooh…”  
  
It came from the back of his throat, as much growl as it was a simple exhalation of air. Douglas opened his eyes to look up at his captain and saw that his head was lolling back. His throat, a long and swan-like affair, was bared to the world and his Adam’s apple was bobbing directly in the center of it. Douglas squeezed Martin’s knees, and pushed his face forward, furthering his mouth’s journey down.  
  
Martin’s knees jumped as Douglas reached the halfway point. There, he stopped and gave Martin a particularly hard suck that Douglas assumed would get the younger man to let go of the wheel, but it seemed Martin’s hands were super-glued to the damned thing. Martin let out a breathy, deep sigh, however, and Douglas took it as a sign that Martin was beginning to falter. Douglas breathed out of his nose and ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of the dick in his mouth. Douglas felt the ridges of the vein and the shudder that ran through Martin’s body. Douglas swiped his tongue over that area again, this time letting the blade of his tongue press slowly against the ridges. Martin shuddered again and Douglas used the tip of his tongue as a pointer and pressed it against the center of the vein.  
  
One of Martin’s hands came to grip Douglas’s hair. “God, Douglas.” Martin began to pump his hips, forcing himself further into Douglas’s throat. And while Douglas would be happier than Arthur on the first day of Lent to have Martin fuck his mouth, having Martin set the pace would be tantamount to letting him win, and Douglas had plans for the two of them later. Douglas moved his hands so that they were pressing Martin’s hips down into the captain’s seat. Martin whinnied. Douglas gave the vein another lick and pressed his mouth further down onto his lover’s prick.  
  
Douglas was nearly to the base of Martin’s erection, the suction rising and falling slowly and his tongue racing slow zigzags across the hot, stiff flesh in his mouth. Martin was gripping his hair even harder. Douglas could feel the muscles under his fingers flinch at the need to push and Martin’s panting was becoming deeper, more harried. Every so often, Martin’s pants would end with a high-pitched whine. There was a gasp when Douglas’s lips pressed against the root of Martin’s cock. Martin was completely pinned to the chair, though his thigh muscles wriggled under Douglas’s palms. Douglas’s fingers pressed harder into Martin’s hips. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he felt the head start to press against the back of his throat. This was the part that always worried Douglas. For all he loved giving Martin blowjobs, the worry that he may actually choke at this part always sat in the back of his mind. If Douglas let Martin’s hips free, the other man would most definitely buck into his mouth, lost in the moisture and the heat, and if they weren’t careful Douglas’s gag reflex would activate and end the session in one of two disastrous ways.  
  
Martin’s hand supported the back of Douglas’s head and applied a gentle, begging pressure. The other hand was still on the controls, which annoyed Douglas very much. He was giving Martin the best blowjob he could imagine, and there was still only one hand forcing him down? Douglas’s tongue licked as much as it could of the base of Martin’s cock and there was one quick, aborted thrust.  
  
“Oh, oh fuck. Douglas.”  
  
The hand in his hair was shaking. If Douglas’s mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he would’ve smirked. As it was, he decided it was time for air. As slow as his descent, Douglas pulled his head up, tongue making a paisley pattern—swoops and swirls—along the prick. As his head lifted, he made the suction stronger, his tongue’s movements more erratic. Martin’s pants were more erratic and his hips began to shift and wriggle. Near the top of the length, Douglas let his bottom teeth slide over the skin.  
  
Martin’s entire body was thrown into his orgasm. His back went board-straight. His head was tossed back and his face, which Douglas couldn’t see, would be scrunched into a nearly painful-looking grimace, eyes screwed shut and nostrils flaring. His hand, his one hand, in Douglas’s hair gripped so tightly it nearly ripped some strands out.  
  
At the same time, G-ERTI took a sharp dip forward.

"Sh-Shit!"

Douglas pulled himself off of Martin and twisted himself half-way around.  "I have it!"  Martin let go of the controls and Douglas over-corrected, then re-corrected the plane so that it was flying level yet again.

Martin sat back in his chair and stared at Douglas, still on his knees, his hair bunched and ruffled and his lips red and wet with cum dripping out of the corner.  Martin smiled, ran a hand through Douglas's hair.  "I...I guess I won that bet."

Douglas twisted back around.  He lifted an eyebrow.  "I bed to differ, Sir.  I believe the parameters of our bet were you would win if you could keep both hands on the controls during the entire blow-job."  Douglas stood up, placing his hands on the armrests and leaning in so that Martin could see nothing but Douglas--his deep brown eyes, his strong square jaw, his long eyelashes, his wonderfully full and glistening lips.  "Where are your hands now?"

"But--I had already started coming when I let go!"  Martin leaned forward as well, his lips brushing against Douglas's.  "Besides, your hands were just meant to keep my legs open. They did much more than that."

"So?"  Douglas asked.  "I've saved us all from dying of a plane crash _you_ would've caused."

"Actually," Martin corrected, "it would've been a plane crash _you_ would've caused."  Martin licked the dribble of cum from the corner of Douglas's mouth.  "But use of your hands for activities other than the prescribed 'holding Martin's legs open' means you've cheated and cheating, by default, makes me the winner."

At that moment, Arthur opened the door.  "Hey Chaps.  That was quite the--um..."

"Go away, Arthur.  Captain Crieff and I are discussing the finer points of a bet."

"Right.  I'm...I'm just going to leave you two alone."  Arthur closed the door behind him, and Martin and Douglas dissolved into a fit of giggles before they leaned into each other and kissed.


End file.
